


Spider Lily

by jeonmeanie



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Jeon Wonwoo, Dark, Love/Hate, M/M, Top Kim Mingyu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonmeanie/pseuds/jeonmeanie
Summary: And so on a Sunday morning, when the rest of our family had packed their bags with their Bibles and their envelopes with bills for the church, Kim Mingyu leaned across the kitchen table, his lips barely touching my ear as he whispered, "what do you want from me?"I smirked as I eyed him rather blatantly. "The moon was very bright yesterday."He seemed amused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, revealing his canines. I found them strangely attractive. "What do you want from me?" he repeated once again.





	Spider Lily

 

"Do you believe in God?"

"No." The response was immediate, clear-cut and curt. The boy's low voice echoed against the walls and filled the room. "I do not believe in God."

The doctor grimaced slightly. "Would you mind if I asked you why?" It wasn't as if he had anything against those that did not believe in God. He was just, well, curious. Curious for how the boy could answer in such determination that he did not believe in God.

The boy just sat still at the doctor's words, the ends of his mouth curling upwards slightly to form a smile. "Because if God truly existed, I do not believe I would have been so miserable."

  
**

  
The rest of my family were devout Christians. Every Sunday at 9 A.M. they would evacuate the house, leaving me alone to spend my Sunday mornings feeding the house dog. I had no intentions of complaining, though, because unlike the busy weekdays, Sunday morning without the rest of my family allowed me to keep some space to myself. It was peaceful and quiet.

However, two weeks after the start of the new semester, the established peace that existed in our house was broken apart by the arrival of a new face. "My name is Kim Mingyu," the new face introduced himself. And then he turned around and made his way up the stairs, leaving the rest of my family dumbfounded and their faces red from shock and anger. He was later revealed to be the son of father's mistress, much to mom and grandmother's dismay. They kicked father out of the house, threatening him not to set a foot inside the mansion before he truly confessed his sins in front of God and promised never to repeat them.

Mom seemed to be happy over the fact that he wasn't, at least, father's hidden son, or in other words, my half-brother. Father claimed he was not biologically related to Mingyu, and that no, he would never be able to hold a relationship off for more than 15 years unless he was forced to. Mom's face contorted with a mix of emotions including disgust and misery. It wasn't a pleasant sight to see.

However, the fact that we were not biologically related, the fact that I had basically no ties to Kim Mingyu except that he was my father's stepson, was what lead to our distorted relationship, our relationship full of hate and lust and love, the emotions too tangled up that even ourselves were unable to distinguish between them.

Kim Mingyu was a bright kid, naturally. Although the years had made the light he carried around with him to wear off and dim out, it didn't mean that the light had completely disappeared from him. And I was capable of seeing that light. Wherever he went, my eyes followed him around, and he knew it, Kim Mingyu did. The boy was a year younger than me, in his last year of high school, but he was taller, more muscular, and better looking than me, his sharp eyes and black eyeballs moving to meet my own whenever I was caught staring at him. The one thing I loved about him more than his looks: the fact that he didn't believe in going to church, either.

And so on a Sunday morning, when the rest of our family had packed their bags with their Bibles and their envelopes with bills for the church, Kim Mingyu leaned across the kitchen table, his lips barely touching my ear as he whispered, "what do you want from me?"

I smirked as I eyed him rather blatantly. "The moon was very bright yesterday."

He seemed amused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, revealing his canines. I found them strangely attractive. "What do you want from me?" he repeated once again.

I decided not to respond, but I did stretch my hand out to caress his cheek, caress the mole on his left cheek. He didn't need a response. The next thing I knew, he was hauling me up from my seat and dragging me upstairs into his room. We kissed, and it was fire. Everywhere he laid his fingers on my skin, it felt like it was set on fire. He took my clothes down, one by one, my gray cardigan, my white blouse, my black jeans, planting kisses on my skin as he stripped me down, on my neck, my collarbones, my chest, and my stomach. I laid underneath him as he pushed into me, setting a slow pace, then going faster as the pleasure built up. Pleasure. Every minute, every second I spent with Kim Mingyu was full of pleasure, so much that I didn't care anymore for the fact that the established peace in my family had been broken apart by no other than Kim Mingyu, and neither for the fact that I didn't have Sunday mornings to myself anymore because of no other than Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu, however, didn't love me, not the way I loved him. The way he saw me, I was a mixture of all the roots of his misery and all the roots of his current happiness as well. He was happy when he was with me, laying down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, talking about really minute things like how the cat from the Lee's had run away last week, and how the flower in the pot downstairs had died. But he was also miserable when he was with me, myself being a representation of a life he doesn't have but could have had. What if father had decided to abandon mom and marry Kim Mingyu's mother? Then maybe he would've been in my place and I would've been in his place, receiving all the hatred from the rest of my family. That's what I was to him; the ideal life that he would never have, but could have had.

I knew that Kim Mingyu loved me. I knew that Kim Mingyu hated me. I knew how his hate would turn to love, then how his love would turn to hate, and how the hate would turn to love once again. An endless cycle of love and hate, and love and hate, and love and hate. Towards me. Kim Mingyu loved me and hated me at the same time.

After our first time together, Kim Mingyu decided to wrap his arms around my waist and pull his white blanket over our naked bodies. He slowly drew circles on my back with his palm as he asked, "do you believe in God?"

I didn't answer for a while. It was a hard question. Did I believe in God? Could I believe in God? So I dodged the question by rolling over and hugging his waist, asking him the same question: "do _you_  believe in God?"

Kim Mingyu let out a hoarse laugh, pulling me closer into his chest as he opened his mouth to respond. "I don't," he said, with determination.

I hesitated for a second before leaning in and caressing his cheek like I had before, then asked, "would you mind if I asked you why?"

He shook his head, responding to my question before also leaning in to meet my lips with his own. "Because if God truly existed, I do not believe I would have been so miserable." As soon as he was done talking, our tongues intertwined, and I found out that he tasted strangely like the strawberry jam that was on the table this morning. It wasn't a bad taste.

  
**

  
I had, in fact, met Kim Mingyu's mother before. Mingyu, of course, was not aware of this. And I did not plan to have him know either. She was a beautiful woman, Mingyu's mom, she was; with her long, glossy black hair that reached her waist, her smile exactly like that of Mingyu's. The corners of her lips would curl up, revealing her teeth, her sharp eyes forming crescent moons as she beamed down at me. Her eyeballs, however, unlike Kim Mingyu's, showed a disarray of emotions such as loneliness, emptiness, and vanity. She asked me if I wanted ice cream. I said yes. I was seven years old.

"It would be nice if the two of you could have met as friends," she said to me, dabbing the ice cream off my face with her ivory handkerchief.

"Who?" I asked, and she smiled, sad, sad, very sad. Her lips curving up but her eyes downcast, not a single tint of happiness in her brown eyeballs.

"My son," she responded, "he's only a year younger than you."

I later learned that she had come to see me that day at the amusement park not to buy me ice cream and flash me weak smiles full of sorrow, but to possibly kidnap me, maybe regain some of the happiness that my mother than stolen away from her. _But he was too young, too much like Mingyu. I couldn't possibly do any harm to him_ , her diary read, the old, brown paper rough against my fingertips. I closed the book and put it back in father's shelf.

How had she passed away? Oh yeah, a car crash. Where she had run right into the river, leaving her 17-year-old son to fend for himself against the world in his last year of high school.

Everybody knew it wasn't a car crash.

I still remember grandmother's disgusted, but not shocked expression when she had first laid her eyes on Kim Mingyu. How her eyes had scanned him from top to bottom, condemning him a disgrace, a sin. That he did not belong to this world, that he did not belong to God's world.

  
**

  
So when they found us together, Mingyu losing himself inside me, me losing myself underneath him on a Sunday morning, exactly 5 months after Kim Mingyu had entered the house, grandmother slapped me across the face. A red hand mark was left on my right cheek, right where Kim Mingyu had touched it just a few hours ago, whispering my name into my ear. Then she kicked me, her black shoes leaving marks on my legs, my chest, and my arms, right where Kim Mingyu had caressed my skin just a few hours ago, growling my name out in between his gritted teeth as he had thrust into me over and over again. They called me a traitor, a sin to God himself, the white and pink of my body turning a shade of purple and blue with every hit against my skin. Kim Mingyu was taken away from me, and even as they dragged him away, he called out my name. "Jeon Wonwoo," he yelled out, and oh how sweet my name sounded in his tongue, his lips, his voice. I stretched my hand out to grab for him, but a shoe stepped on my hand. A breaking sound, a scream of pain, tears rolling down my cheeks. I was broken.

If only we had been more careful than to start making out in Kim Mingyu's room. Maybe we could have locked the door. Maybe we could have found somewhere else. Maybe, maybe, maybe, all those things we had not done but could have done.

I remembered mom's shocked face when she had met eyes with me, my eyes only half open and veiled with lust and tears of pleasure. I let out another moan, calling Kim Mingyu's name as he moved his waist even more furiously, pushing himself deeper inside me. Her face drained of color, and she ran away, her pale, quivery lips calling out God's name as her footsteps echoed against the house.

"Who was that?" Mingyu asked as he pulled the blanket over me and walked to the bathroom.

"Mom," I replied, "I don't know why she was here. She hates you."

Mingyu made a bizarre face, his eyes a menacing tide full of complex emotions. "I don't think she does."

I pushed my hair back, meeting Kim Mingyu's eyes. "Well," I said, "she's supposed to, at least." Then Kim Mingyu turned around and made his way into the bathroom, leaving me in his bed, cold and feeling rather neglected without him by my side. I moved my eyes across the room. The room smelled of mold, it having been used as a storehouse before, and Kim Mingyu not being an organized person by nature, there were all kinds of objects laid across the floor. His school textbooks, his phone, his laptop charger, cups of instant coffee, boxes of chips and a beige brassiere that looked strangely familiar.

And when I slipped off the bed, the blankets around my shoulders as I leaned down to pick it up from the floor, a hand grabbed at my wrist. A wrinkled hand, the blue veins visible on the back of her hand. The strong grip hauled me up, and grandmother's high pitched voice filled my ears as the remains of our affair trickled from my crack down my thighs, the white liquid dripping onto the floor, _plop, plop_. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see mom, face still pale and shivering, as she picked up the brassiere from the floor and hid it behind her back.

They called us the Sodom and Gomorra.

I said that we were all the Sodom and Gomorra.

  
**

  
They sent me to a hospital. They said I was sick. I swore I was not, but my family were devout Christians.

Five days later after I was sent to the hospital, Kim Mingyu left our family. He did not leave anything behind that indicated that he had once been here. Just like the wind; he was the wind. "They sent him away to Europe," father said as he came to sit beside me on a Sunday evening, the sun hitting his back and casting a shadow on my hospital bed.

"Are you not disgusted by me?" was my response.

Father didn't say anything, only looked at me in the eye for a few minutes. Then he took something out of his suit pocket. It was a photo, an old photo, the corners rotten and brown. "Take this," he said, taking my hand and placing it on my palm. I peered at it. It was a photo of a boy, yellow flowers on his head, his black hair disheveled and his canines sticking out as he smiled under the sun.

"Mingyu," I breathed. Father nodded. I caressed the boy's face with my thumb. "I hope he is happy."

Father sighed and nodded once again. "I hope he is too."

The nurse came in and called for my name. "Patient Jeon Wonwoo," she said, and I rose from my bed, my legs aching from the bruises and cuts that had yet to heal.

  
**

  
The doctor massaged his temples as the skinny boy in his striped blue clothes entered the room. "Sit down," he said as he gestured towards the chair. "What are you here for?"

"They told me I was sick."

The doctor frowned. The use of 'they' was a habit a lot of patients tended to have. They believed they were not actually not well, but that those around them thought they were not well. So he put on his businesslike beam and said, "go on, you can keep talking. How do you feel right now?"

"Miserable, sad, depressed," the boy said, "like I want something to lean to but have nothing to lean to."

The doctor nodded slowly. "Well," he began, "do you have a religion? Maybe that could help." The boy's face seemed to scrunch up, but the doctor went on without noticing. "Do you believe in God?"

"No." The response was immediate, clear-cut and curt. The boy's low voice echoed against the walls and filled the room. "I do not believe in God."

The doctor grimaced slightly. "Would you mind if I asked you why?" It wasn't as if he had anything against those that did not believe in God. He was just, well, curious. Curious for how the boy could answer in such determination that he did not believe in God.

The boy just sat still at the doctor's words, the ends of his mouth curling upwards slightly to form a smile. "Because if God truly existed, I do not believe I would have been so miserable."

Outside the doctor's office, the boy's father clenched his fist, letting out a sigh of frustration, or maybe even anger. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Behind him, the television anchor was dressed up in a formal blue suit, reciting the words he always did, this time talking about a dead body being found in an abandoned house full of poisonous gas in the suburbs of Seoul. "...and we suspect that he had been trying to commit suicide, his name having been revealed to be Kim Mingyu, 19 years old; we've yet to track down the rest of his family...."

 

 


End file.
